


The escape?

by Batbrothersforever



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Hurt No Comfort, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 00:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batbrothersforever/pseuds/Batbrothersforever
Summary: Congratulations!!!You have survived the war,now live with trauma."





	The escape?

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimers: I don’t own anything you recognise.

He sank to the hard wood floor, in a crashing manor that rivalled his heart's, the resounding crash an awakening to the fact that people aren't like snow or leaves ;they do not look pretty when they fall. Memories flood his mind, dug up like cursed treasure and he couldn't escape. He didn't want this pain, didn't want this constant replay of moments his heart refused to forget. These four walls once held the sanctuary his entire being lacked; the books ling its boundary, allowed him to live a thousand lives.  Now, his piercing cruelean eyes glare at them in distain. They remain as a painful reminder of the chaos he used them to escape, the chaos caused by the day his head decided to go to war with his heart.

People always say to live for the moments you can't put into words, they forget to mention that not all of them are good. It was after those moments that his heart, mind and soul ached as one, where falling down meant the same thing as falling apart, a break that no story could fix. His heart pounded, breathing laboured and head sore. He pressed his forehead to the floor of the library, allowing his ebony locks to fall into his sparkling eyes. This place used to be his haven, the only place he'd considered heaven in a long time. Now, it was clouded by darkness. Laying in a feeble position, he let himself slip further into the abyss of his own thoughts. Life and death had a broken custody agreement over him which no court could settle, he was stuck, torn, unable to escape from his own existence.

The world is littered with empires that believed they were eternal and now the threat of intimate destruction is looming over him. He scraped his fingers into the ground in a way that looked like a vain attempt of escape. No use, no matter how hard you try, it is futile to attempt to escape you own mind. Sure, pages upon pages numb the agony, but when that last one flickers between his fingers and it all rushes back. You never get used to the idea of someone being gone, then the distraction wears off and the shock still hits you like a ton of bricks and you are transported back to the fateful day it occurred, with no escape. Light filters through the curtains illuminating his face. It speaks to his him, whispers his name.  
Death  
It shouldn't be this way, he shouldn't find solace in death. He wasn't sure that was the right word for it, but then again, nothing about death made sense, why did words have to?  He hated death, hated everything he stood for, hated how he tried to lure him into a deeper darkness. Perhaps there was no trying about it, perhaps with each death; fictional or not, he had already succeeded, but to admit that was something he'd never do. Yet. However, the evidence was very clear, every time death snapped his boney fingers, he would fall deeper into the pit of darkness. There was no escape except to lose himself in deaths cold embrace. Just like the others. 

Don't feel, don't think, the words echoed through his broken subconscious. Tears cascade down his reddened face pooling upon crumpled pages. Death reached out his hand in invitation. Welcoming, nothing in his life had ever been so appealing, so tempting. But he couldn't, could he? Escape, he needed to escape before it was too late. He pondered if it already was, wondered where he could escape to? He didn't even know what he was trying to escape from. He had nothing else to lose, nothing to live for. Death leant down, breath brushing past his ear and uttered,  
"Did you really think you would win?  
Honestly darling, why are you fighting against the cause that will set you free?"  
Releasing the shuttering breath he didn't even notice he had been holding, his anger and grief dissolved into calm and for the first time in a long time he tasted the sweetness of serenity that no book could ever fulfil. Death told him he could escape all this torment if he would just leave this library and follow him.  
Was this the escape he really desired?  
Or  
Was it the only one he'd ever be offered?  
Pivoting around until he was fully face to face with his saviour, he raised his hand to connect with deaths open one.  
This was his escape.

People remark that life is not like a book, but, they're wrong, it is, in more ways than one.  
Because in the end, no matter how much we want it and no matter how hard we try to escape it...  
Some stories just don't have happy endings.


End file.
